


Are the social media managers okay?

by PorcupineGirl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 2020 NHL Coronavirus Pause, COVID-19, Getting Together, M/M, Quarantine, Skype, at least it's sort of relevant, is that really the only canonical covid-related tag??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl
Summary: When the tweets on the official Falconers account go from weird to bleak during quarantine, Jack gets a little worried about the mental health of their social media manager.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 123
Kudos: 826





	Are the social media managers okay?

**Author's Note:**

> I had no plans to write a quarantine fic, but then [Tindi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleTindi/pseuds/SparkleTindi), who has been sharing a lot of odd "official" tweets with our OMGCP group chat, shared [this one](https://twitter.com/NWSTwinCities/status/1262551701132894208) and I replied, "Are the social media managers of the country okay? Given how often Bitty is given this job I feel like there is a fic here." I needed a palate-cleansing break from all my WIPs, anyhow. Tbh, I gave myself permission to be lazy with this fic - there's a lot of telling I'd usually insist on making myself show, particularly in between time jumps, and it's not as thoroughly-edited as usual, but I do not have the energy.
> 
> A couple things to know: I started writing this before the NHL officially(ish) announced that they're going to go ahead with playoffs this summer/fall, which still seems weird to me. So we're just going with them picking things up with the new season, though I did pull a bit (like consolidating games in a few cities) from what was at that point mostly vague maybes and rumors about what they would be doing. But overall, what I have them doing to mitigate the virus risk may or may not bear any resemblance to what they actually wind up doing.
> 
> Also, the Falconers mascot is Perry the Falcon. This is relevant for exactly one joke at the start of the fic and that's it.

**March 31:**

@ **GoPVDFalcsNHL** : Quarantine: It's like if your entire apartment were a penalty box!

**April 17:**

@ **GoPVDFalcsNHL** : Anyone else started writing Gritty/Perry fanfic to pass the time? Just me?

**April 18:**

@ **GoPVDFalcsNHL** posts a screenshot showing that Gritty liked the previous tweet and adds: I KNEW IT! DM me your digits, @GrittyNHL, and I'll pass 'em on to Perry. #matchmaker

**May 3:**

@ **GoPVDFalcsNHL** : When I forget what it was like to be on the ice, all I have to do is look into the cold depths of my soul and I'm reminded.

**Jack:** Is Bittle okay?

Jack looks at the text to George, then deletes it without sending.

He's not sure he knows Bittle well enough to ask him directly, but if something _is_ going on with him, Jack probably doesn't need to call it to the attention of one of their bosses. Especially if she hasn't noticed the increasingly-strange tweets that have been showing up on the Falconers' timeline since shelter-in-place started.

He knows it's still Bittle running the Twitter because last week he posted a (very impressive) batch of cookies he'd baked and decorated to look like the Falconers logo.

The only reason Jack even checks Twitter is that so many of the guys post pictures of their families or pets, especially now, and it feels like one way to stay connected. Sure, they have various group texts, but they just act like hockey bros there. He normally gets to see these other sides of his friends, too—barbecues at Marty's with everyone's kids, Tater bringing his enormous Newfoundland over to shed all over Jack's couch—and Twitter seems to be the best place to get that.

Some of his Samwell friends are on there, too, but most of the shenanigans they get up to are things Jack probably shouldn't attach his name to officially, even just by liking their tweets. They have a group DM and he reacts to their posts there, and then they chirp him for being too famous to lower himself to replying to the plebes' tweets directly. He worried at first that they really thought that, but Shitty has reassured him (while naked on Jack's couch that was covered in Tater's dog's fur at the time) that they all understand the scrutiny he's under and they love him for staying in touch no matter how he does it.

He doesn't post tweets himself. Not even now, a month and a half into quarantine. He doesn't have a family, or pets, or even a significant other. What would he post, his workouts? The books he's reading? He has an Instagram where he occasionally posts photos he takes in the local parks, where apparently he's earned himself a reputation as a "soft hipster hockey boi" according to Lardo (he's not sure why it's spelled with an i, but he doesn't ask questions). She set him up with that right after she left Samwell, and normally it's all the social media he can handle.

He'd been annoyed at first, when Bittle had started pushing for more of the team to get on Twitter.

Especially because it was _Bittle_ asking, so Jack knew he wouldn't be able to say no.

He goes back to the Twitter tab on his browser and hits the icon to send a DM to the official Falconers account.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** Uh, Bittle, are you doing okay?

He still isn't sure he should pry like this, but he figures it's the sort of thing he can explain away with "eh, y'know, quarantine."

He doesn't expect a reply immediately—he's not sure he really expects a reply at all—but he's barely switched back to his feed when a little 1 pops up on the messaging icon.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** Oh no, was that last tweet too much? It's not like I'm drowning in depression here, just the same quarantine malaise as anyone else.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** A lot of official Twitters are getting a little punchy, tbh. I should start a group DM for social media managers.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** I doubt I'm a good judge of what's "too much" on Twitter.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** Well, it's certainly not you, Mr. Zimmermann.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** My point exactly.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** You know, I keep hearing people mention you have a really dry sense of humor when the press isn't around, but I didn't think I'd ever earn the right to experience it myself.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** Maybe you should let me write the official tweets for a while.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:**

(GIF of David from Schitt's Creek saying "I can't tell whether you're being serious or not.")

 **@JLZimmermann1:** a) No. I'd do it if you wanted me to but you'd regret it. b) I love that show.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** Really! I would not have pegged you for a Schitt's Creek fan. I'm learning more and more about your sense of humor every moment.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** My best friend goes by the name Shitty, so I've been required to watch it since the premiere. I wasn't sure about it at first, I didn't think any of the main characters could be likeable, but it's really good.

Jack pauses.

Before he'd even met their new social media manager he'd been intimidated just finding out who they'd hired. Jack had recognized the name Eric Bittle immediately—the fast little forward from Brown he'd played against many times, who'd become the first out NCAA hockey captain after Jack had graduated from Samwell. Jack, who wasn't even out to Shitty or Lardo at the time, couldn't imagine what kind of steel will it must take to do that. He still feels oddly inferior to Bittle because of it.

Maybe that's why he keeps going. Or maybe it's that, from what he knows of Bittle, he thinks maybe he can relate in the same way Jack does.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** I really like how they handled David's arc. I appreciated seeing a character who didn't fit into neat boxes when it comes to masculinity and sexuality.

There's a longer pause. The bubbles come up a couple of times telling him Bittle is typing, then go away again. It goes on long enough that Jack starts to worry that maybe he shouldn't have said something so personal, but the response he finally gets makes him smile.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** Gosh, I love working for this team. I can't imagine anywhere else in the NHL where a player would say something like that so freely.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** Trust me, I know exactly what you mean. By the time I signed, I knew I wouldn't be happy coming out of Samwell onto a team with a more traditional culture. I've had enough of that toxicity to last a lifetime.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** Congrats, you've singlehandedly lifted my quarantine malaise. 😊

 **@JLZimmermann1:** At least I accomplished something today.

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** You absolutely did!

 **@GoPVDFalcsNHL:** It does feel a little silly to be having this conversation on the official account, though. My personal account is @omgcheckplease - I can only DM you there if you DM me first.

Jack grins. It feels a little silly—a little middle school, to be pleased that his crush wants to talk to him. That doesn't mean he's not going to jump at the opportunity, though.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** Okay

**@JLZimmermann1** : Hi

 **@omgcheckplease** : Hi!

 **@omgcheckplease** : Okay, so let's back up a minute. Your best friend's name is what now?

Jack laughs. He's thankful that Bittle had a conversation topic ready to go, so he doesn't have to sit there figuring out how to fill awkward pauses.

 **@omgcheckplease** : (Sorry, it felt really silly to veer off into this kind of topic on the work account.)

 **@JLZimmermann1** : That makes sense.

 **@JLZimmermann1:** Shitty, on the other hand, does not. In any way. Not just his name.

 **@omgcheckplease** : ??? He chooses to go by this?

 **@JLZimmermann1** : He hates his real first name, which is Byron. Someone in high school suggested he go by his initials, like TJ or whatever, but his middle name is Sterling, so his initials are B.S. Not hard to get from there to a hockey nickname.

 **@omgcheckplease** : Oh, did you play with him at Samwell?

 **@JLZimmerman1** : Yeah. You know we played each other, right? You and me?

 **@omgcheckplease** : Haha, yes, I know! Some of the guys on my team had a bit of hero worship going on, even though they wanted to beat you. When you got that hatty against us my sophomore year the poor things were torn between being in awe and being pissed off. It was hilarious.

They wind up chatting for over an hour, until Bittle has to leave for a meeting.

Jack then finds himself scrolling through Bittle's Twitter account, mostly because of the abundant selfies. He really is gorgeous. The first time Jack had walked into a meeting with him, Jack had been such a mess. He'd been a little nervous to begin with, meeting this guy who had done something Jack only wished he'd been brave enough to do. Then he walked in and Bittle had stood up from the conference table to shake his hand and Jack had been struck dumb.

He knows he has a type: small, blonde, athletic. He knew Bittle basically fit that type, but he'd never really seen the guy without hockey gear on. He'd had no idea that Bittle had such big, deep brown eyes, the kind that could swallow Jack whole. Or that he still had a bit of the accent from wherever he grew up—somewhere in the South, an accent that caused some of his words to drip with honey even as he sped through his initial social media spiel that he probably gave all the players on their first meeting. Jack definitely had had no idea that Bittle's smile would glow like it did, even when it was just the kind of smile you give out of professional courtesy.

It was really unfortunate that Bittle's job was to make Jack do something he didn't want to do, which meant that Jack only ever had the one real meeting with him. Until now, he hasn't had many opportunities to talk to him at all, and most of those were short and to the point. That hadn't dimmed Jack's crush, though, because he did see Bittle around the practice arena now and then; he'd even come into the locker room a few times to get footage for some social media thing or other. Jack's crush had worked against him those times—he'd had trouble even looking at Bittle, let alone talking to him, when he was either a) not fully clothed and/or b) sweaty and disgusting from coming off the ice.

It's not like he expects Bittle to like him back—even if he did, it's not like they could date right now—but Jack decides that the little thrill he gets in his stomach at the idea of becoming friends is pleasant and harmless enough.

* * *

They progress quickly from Twitter to texting. And yeah, sure, Jack already had a crush on the guy, but he didn't realize Bittle would be so easy to talk to—which is so rare for Jack in and of itself. He'd always assumed that if they did get a chance to have a real conversation, Jack would be his usual awkward self and Bittle would politely tolerate him for a few minutes, bored out of his mind. It turns out, though, that whenever Jack turns awkward and doesn't know where to take the conversation next, Bittle is perfectly willing to chatter away until he says something Jack can latch onto as a foothold back into the conversation. Jack wonders if that dynamic would hold up in person, or if it's a side effect of the medium.

He gets his chance to find out not two weeks after he first messaged Bittle.

 **Bittle** : Hey, this is silly, but I'm trying to find a way to do a game night over Skype or Zoom or something. You interested?

 **Jack** : Sure, I guess so. Who else will be there?

He doesn't get a reply for nearly twenty minutes, but that's not too strange. Bittle spends so much time baking, he often has to do things like mixing or rolling or kneading or whatever bakers do between texts.

 **Bittle** : Looks like Tater is in, and one of my friends from college, at the very least. So that's four of us, even if no one else wants to that seems like enough to do something.

In the end, Bittle gets two other people to join—another guy on the Falconers staff named Peter who maybe looks vaguely familiar to Jack, and another of Bittle's friends from college. The first of these friends is a girl named Ava who Bittle met through the campus LGBTQ organization, while the second one is a guy he'd been on the hockey team with named Andrew but who Bittle calls _Marker_ and who calls him _Bitty_.

It quickly becomes clear that Andrew was probably warned to be cool about playing board games with two of the Falconers, but is only barely capable of holding it together enough to do so. When Tater insists he and Ava call him _Tater_ and calls him _Marker_ in return (and is absolutely _delighted_ to start calling Bittle _Bitty_ instead of _Eric_ ), Jack isn't sure the poor kid will be able to speak well enough to make it through a round of Scattergories.

He does, somehow, but never quite loses the starstruck look. Ava thinks it's hilarious but manages to chirp him about it subtly enough so as not to openly embarrass him, which Jack thinks is nice of her. He's guessing another guy from the Brown team wouldn't be so gracious (if they were any better—Jack hasn't forgotten what Bittle told him about playing against him).

Somehow, at the end of the night, Jack and Bittle wind up being the last two on the call. Okay, "somehow" mostly involves Jack refusing to find an excuse to log off until everyone else is gone; even if he only gets a minute or two alone with Bittle, he'll take it.

"Thanks for inviting me tonight," he says. "All the guys from the team ever want to do online together is play MarioKart or some fighting game. And that was a little less chaotic than trying to, uh… do much of anything with the Samwell guys."

"They're still a little rambunctious, are they, even years after college?" Bittle asks with an adorably cheeky grin.

"At least everyone at this get-together was fully clothed," Jack replies, deadpan. Bittle laughs, a sound Jack has discovered he likes a lot more than he probably should. Once again, he feels a little bit like he's eleven again and staring at the most popular girl in the school during math class—but unlike Charlotte Gagnon, Bittle is giving him the time of day. More than that.

"Thank _you_ for coming," Bittle says. "Actually, thank you for messaging me back on Twitter at all. That was so sweet of you, askin' if I was okay, when here I'd thought you hated me."

"What?" Jack's eyes widen. "I definitely never hated you. Hell, the only reason I let you set up the Twitter account in the first place was—" He _just_ manages to stop himself before he blurts out "because I had a crush on you." "—because… I knew I was being a pain in the ass about it and I felt bad when you were so nice to me." He's pretty sure he covered that okay? If Bittle noticed him stumbling over his words, he doesn't show it, at any rate.

"You _were_ a little bit of a pain in the ass," Bittle replies with a wry twist of his lips. "I thought it was 'cause of me."

"No, I hated Twitter, not you," Jack insists, shaking his head. "Notice that I still don't post things on it."

"You can just say _tweet_ ," Bittle says, teasing. "You don't _tweet_."

"Of course I don't, I'm not a canary. Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Bittle giggles as he rolls his eyes, which spurs Jack to keep going. "Maybe quarantine really is starting to get to you. _Ohhh_ , or maybe you've been talking to Gritty too much on Twitter. He's pretty creepy, I can see how that could do things to your head."

"For someone who's supposedly not a bird, you sure do chirp a lot, Mr. Zimmermann."

That, finally, breaks Jack's straight face.

Just like the first time, they wind up talking for over an hour, until they're both yawning and accusing the other of making them yawn. When they finally hang up, Jack can't stop smiling as he gets ready for bed.

Because he thinks, maybe, there's really something here. Obviously he wants to be friends with Bittle no matter what, but he feels like this really might be more. Like maybe his crush isn't unrequited. He's not sure how he's ever going to do anything with that while they're both in lockdown, but it's a nice thought anyhow.

* * *

Somehow, one night talking on Skype leads to talking almost every day. He talks to Bittle more often than anyone else—Shitty, Lardo, Tater, his parents. It's never awkward; Bittle can always fill Jack's silences and never seems to take offense to them. At first they mostly stick to lighter, more surface topics, but by a month in they're talking about their childhoods and two months in they're staying up late talking about everything from their college classes to their neuroses to the movies they watch together on Netflix.

If Jack felt like a middle-schooler before, now he feels like he's 15 again, having just played his first season with Parse but not kissed him yet, spending the summer tied to his phone. There are two main differences: First, they'd been negotiating an international calling divide then, using his parents' willingness to indulge him and pay very high cell phone bills on Jack's end and prepaid calling cards on Parse's end. They had Skype, but it was new and internet connections weren't very fast yet. None of this texting photos back and forth, no answering a FaceTime call while he's cooking dinner.

Second, Jack hadn't really understood his feelings for Parse yet then. Until then, the only guys he'd really been attracted to had been celebrities, and for some reason he'd been able to write that off because being attractive was part of their job, right? Everyone thought they were hot, right? That summer he was struggling between the growing realization that he really did want to kiss Parse (and do more stuff with Parse) and telling himself that it was just the novelty of having a best friend for the first time in his life. The question of whether Parse wanted to kiss him (and do other stuff) back didn't even enter his mind until they saw each other in person again.

He's not in any way unsure of his feelings for Bittle. He'd been well aware of them long before they'd gotten locked in their homes, and what was a crush then has bloomed into something much more. He's pretty confident that it's not unrequited, either, even if it might have been at first. He came out to Bittle early on, not long after that first game night. It was easier than coming out to Shitty and Lardo—whether that's because he'd practiced on them or because he didn't feel like he'd been lying to Bittle for years, he's not sure. So there's no confusion on either end about that, at least. When he flirts, Bittle responds. Bittle drops the same little hints that Jack does, that he talks to Jack more than any of his other friends, that he's closer to Jack now than almost anyone.

The NHL released their plan for getting players back on the ice (sans in-person audiences) a few weeks ago, and Jack is starting practices soon. Everyone will be wearing helmets with full face visors, both in games and practices—in fact, the league is testing out a few new designs to try and give them less exposure to each other's breath without fogging up or interfering with their breathing. Every team has to invest in extra equipment, so that they can trade everything out for freshly-santized versions at each intermission. No one is permitted in locker rooms besides the team and the bare minimum required staff, and anyone permitted has to be tested for the virus every few days. The rest of the staff (those who can't work from home) will be tested a bit less often, and they're installing infrared scanners at the entrances to practice facilities to check temperatures as people enter the building.

And the biggest change, that they're only keeping a handful of arenas open that all games will be played in. The Falconers have lucked out in that Providence was chosen as one of those—partially because, while it's slightly less centrally-located than New York or Philly, it's a smaller city with a lower population density and it will be easier for teams to put up their players there for weeks at a time. The Falconers themselves will be allowed to stay in their own homes as long as they and their families follow strict quarantine procedures; if public schools open again for face-to-face classes, for example, their kids won't be allowed to go both go back to school and see their dads, and any wives who can't work from home are facing a similar dilemma.

Jack doesn't have to worry about any of that, for better or worse.

"You can keep working from home, though, right?" They're both in bed, Bittle with a laptop in his lap and Jack with an iPad in his, talking about the plans over Skype. "So you don't have to worry too much."

"Ugh." Bittle rolls his eyes. "I don't even know yet. _Most_ of my job I can do from home, but I'm supposed to get footage of the games and you guys and everything. They're still debating whether I should do at least some of that in person, or if it's not worth the added risk, in which case they'll set up a few video feeds of the ice that I can pull footage from and we'll keep doing remote Falconers Face-Offs and such. I'm guessing that's what'll happen, because they're having to do so much for every additional person they allow into the building, but for some reason Colleen is still pushing for me to go to games. So who knows."

Jack grimaces. "Which outcome are you hoping for?"

"Well, part of me would love to get out of this apartment a little more often and come within talking distance of other people, even if not within six feet of 'em. But honestly, I'm not sure it _would_ be worth it. It's just more risk and cost for only a little benefit. I can find some other way to get out—the local library is looking for volunteers to help organize books people put on hold for curbside pickup, I was thinking about signing up for that."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Jack says, perking up.

"I dunno about _fun_ ," Bittle says with a grin, "but I'd get to be inside a building with a handful of librarians once a week, which would be almost like having a social life at this point." Jack laughs. "You, on the other hand, will practically be living a normal life soon!"

Jack snorts. "Right. I'll get to get on the ice, which trust me, I'm ecstatic about, but once the season quarantine starts none of us are allowed to go out _at all_ —no grocery run once every two weeks, no getting takeout, nothing. We're allowed to be outside, like to go for a run or whatever, but if anyone's caught breaking social distancing regulations while they're out they'll be in huge trouble. And work will be different, other than the actual games—well, those'll be pretty different, too, without an audience. But the rest of it, so much of the staff like you will be working from home, it'll be weird not just… seeing people around the building, y'know? And no press in the locker rooms, not that I'm too torn up about that."

Bittle laughs, then sighs, leaning his chin on one hand. "Someday there'll be a vaccine and we'll all go do things within six feet of other people again. You claim you're so antisocial, but I know even you're looking forward to it."

Jack shrugs. "I think it's bothering me a lot less than social butterfly extroverts like you, but yeah, it'll be nice."

"So what's one thing that even Jack Zimmermann can't wait to do?" Bittle asks with a grin.

And looking at that grin, it's the easiest thing in the word to say, "Take you out on a date."

Bittle sits bolt upright at that, eyes widening. He's only stunned for a second, though, then he's blushing and aiming his million-watt grin anywhere but at Jack. Jack watches fondly as he shakes his head, covers his face with his hands, uncovers it, runs his hands through his hair, then finally looks back at the screen, smile never dimming.

"Excuse me, you're gonna have to give me a minute to recover here. You can't just _spring that_ on a boy."

"You've already had at least a minute," Jack says. "But I'll allow a second one."

Bittle makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and leans his head back against the wall with a _thunk_ , staring up at his ceiling. Finally, Bittle blows out a big breath and looks down again.

"Take me out on a date, huh?" Bittle shakes his head again. "And who says I'd ever go on a date with a big lunk like yourself?" Thankfully, there's far too much affection in his voice and his eyes for Jack to take the question seriously.

"I am a pretty rich lunk," Jack points out. "I could take you to the best restaurants in the country. In the world. With the best dessert menus."

"Okay, okay!" Bittle holds up his hands in surrender. "Good lord, you go straight for the big guns, huh?"

"Whatever it takes," Jack says seriously. He manages to keep a straight face for only another two seconds before breaking out in a grin. "Come on, Bittle, you can't tell me you're _that_ surprised that I'm interested in you."

Even in the dim light of Bittle's bedside lamp, Jack can see his blush. "I suppose not, but I am surprised you'd come out and say it."

"Well, it took me a while," Jack points out. "I lied to you, y'know."

Bittle raises an eyebrow. "About what?"

It's Jack's turn to blush as he admits, "After that first game night, when we were talking and you said you thought I hated you? And I claimed that the only reason I let you get me on Twitter was… I don't know what I said, because I felt bad for being grumpy or something. The truth is, I only let you do it because I had a crush on you."

Bittle lets out a startled little laugh. "Oh my goodness. Well, I suppose I have a similar confession to make."

"Oh, really?"

Jack watches as Bittle bites his lip, eyes lowered, then looks back up at the screen through his eyelashes. "When I invited you to that game night? And you asked me who else was coming? I had to scramble to go invite some other people, because I'd just come up with it right then, as an excuse to talk to you somewhere besides texts." It's Jack's turn to laugh in surprise. "Though I had no idea the interest might be mutual, of course. I was just so shocked that here I'd thought you'd never even speak to me if you didn't have to, then out of nowhere you're messaging me and it turns out you're this sweet, funny, thoughtful guy that I'm suddenly becoming friends with. Even then, I wasn't expecting you to want to talk to me as much as I wanted to talk to you, but I figured out pretty quick I was wrong about that."

"It's rare," Jack says, "for me to be this comfortable talking to someone. To actually _want_ to talk to them every day? I almost didn't message you, y'know. I almost texted George to see if she knew how you were doing. I wasn't sure you'd appreciate me sticking my nose in your business. But then I figured you'd appreciate it even less if you _weren't_ okay and I brought it to management's attention."

"Well, I'm glad you came to me instead of George, for many reasons," Bittle says.

"I think if I hadn't had a crush on you, I might not have been so shy about messaging you," Jack muses. "But then, I probably also wouldn't have been paying any attention to the team's Twitter."

Bittle hums thoughtfully and leans his chin on his hand. " _Had_ a crush, huh? You keep sayin' that, _had_. You really that fickle, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"Yeah, had," Jack says with a crooked smile. He knows Bittle is teasing him, but he's never been good at doing anything halfway. "I had a crush on you as soon as I met you. Now, though. Now that I've really gotten to know you, I'm falling in love with you."

Bittle clearly hadn't been expecting that. His face does a lot of complicated things that Jack can't quite interpret, but he thinks overall aren't entirely _negative_. Then Bittle's lips disappear and he tilts his head back a bit, and Jack thinks he's trying not to cry. Which is probably a good thing, but Jack is starting to get nervous. He's not sure if he should say something, or what he should say.

Finally, Bittle sighs through his nose and looks back at the screen. His eyes are shining. "Jack," he says, and when his voice breaks a little he tries again. "Jack. I need you to not toy with me—"

"I'm not!" Jack breaks in, panic rolling in his belly. He's about to go on when Bittle holds up a hand to quiet him.

"Okay, I know. I know you wouldn't play with me on purpose. But I need you not to get my hopes up here. It's one thing to flirt when we can't even leave our houses, but I can't let myself get invested in this if you don't truly, really and truly, intend to follow through. I mean, who knows when you'd even have a chance, but when that chance does come, if things between us are still good then I need to know that you really would want this. And not as some dirty little secret, either—I'm not even sayin' I'd want you to make some big announcement or something, or even be totally out in public, but I don't know if I can deal with having to do things like _this_ for months and months and then when we do get to be together, sneaking around all the time and hiding it from everyone we know."

Jack breathes a sigh of relief. He thought maybe he'd freaked Bittle out by saying too much, too soon. This, though, this he can deal with. "Yes. Bits. I'm serious about this. I wouldn't want to hide, either. I know that's really complicated, and we'd have to talk about—well, a lot of things. But I want to have those conversations. I want to be with you."

"Good," Bittle says, his shoulders relaxing. The slow smile that spreads across his face is blinding. "'Cause I wanna be with you, too."

* * *

"It's already weird, having practice with no one in the stands," Jack says. He's on his weekly Skype with Shitty and Lardo. He's been practicing with his team under the strict new protocols for a week now. "I mean, it's not like there are ever as many people as at a game, but normally we get a couple hundred most days, easy. More than enough to have some sound and movement out there, and someone for guys like Tater to mug at. Although I guess I'm glad it's empty now, since playing a full game like this is gonna be way weirder."

Lardo nods along with him. Shitty sort of does, too, but he's also eating a burrito, which gets in the way of nodding somewhat.

"So how does it feel, being a part of the world again?" Shitty asks through a mouthful of burrito. "You get to, like, see people. Every damn day! Be in the same room with 'em and everything." They're both still working from home mostly, though Shitty has to go to court in person occasionally.

"Yeah," Jack says, scratching the back of his neck. "It's a little weird, honestly. I've gotten used to being alone 95% of the time, I guess. Especially since, y'know, we have to stay six feet apart if we're not on the ice, and everyone who's not on the ice or on the bench is wearing a mask. So it's not like back to normal or anything. Imagine, a hockey dressing room with nobody smacking anyone's ass."

Shitty gives a long, exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. "No!"

"I feel like there must be upsides to this," Lardo says. She's done with her burrito, having wolfed it down while Shitty spent the first half of the call talking nonstop. Now she lets out a huge burp. "Damn, that was a good burrito. Anyhow, less stink, maybe? Less concentrated, at least, if you're all spread out. Fewer pranks?"

"Well, apparently you can still leave nasty jock straps in other people's bags while social distancing, as Thirdy found out yesterday." Jack shakes his head. "It's unsanitary at the best of times, I can't imagine it's actually a good idea now, but the coaches didn't reprimand anyone for it. I guess it's within acceptable risk levels."

"Probably weighing virus risk versus team spirit, morale, mental health, all that good stuff," Shitty says thoughtfully, stroking his mustache.

"Something like that, I guess," Jack says with a shrug. "So, uh, actually, starting up practices isn't even really the most exciting thing that's happened to me recently." He's blushing already, and he can't even look at the screen. "I'm seeing someone," he blurts out, ripping off the bandaid.

Shitty and Lardo are quiet, and when he looks up they're squinting in confusion.

"Seeing someone?" Shitty finally asks. "Now?"

"Well, I mean, not like going _out_ on dates. Or, well, being in the same room or anything," Jack babbles. "But, y'know. As close as we can get for now."

"Was this some kind of Tinder sexting hookup scenario?" Shitty asks, waggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are doing these days?"

Jack huffs, rolling his eyes. "No, it's someone from work." Shitty and Lardo's eyes go wide, and he hurriedly adds, "Not a teammate!"

"Guess if it were, you could be in the same room with them, huh?" Lardo says with a shrug. They both look mildly disappointed—Jack can't help but wonder if there's someone they've been rooting for him to date? Or maybe they were just hoping for some hot quarantine gossip.

"Oh, hey!" Shitty says, his eyes brightening. "It's that cute kid, isn't it? They gay one you couldn't shut up about when he first got hired? You kept claiming it was just because he was so _inspiring_ and that's why you came out to us, blah blah blah, but you totally had heart eyes every time you talked about him."

Jack's cheeks heat and he ducks his head. He had no idea he'd been so transparent. "Uh, yeah. Bittle."

Shitty lets out a screech, and Jack shares a commiserating look with Lardo as they both ignore the stream of obscenities he lets go for the next thirty seconds.

"So how'd that happen? Now, of all times?" Lardo asks once Shitty has finally quieted down.

"We, uh, we just started talking on Twitter. And then he invited me to this Skype game night he was having, and we just… kept talking? I don't know, like I said, it's not like we can go on real dates, but… we've watched movies together on Netflix. I mean, we did that a few times even before it was officially dating, but it's fun either way. And he's going to teach me to bake something as soon as my next grocery delivery comes. We're figuring it out."

"How long has this been going on?" Shitty asks.

"Uh." Jack pushes out a hard breath, thinking. "I first DMed him in early May. Then the game night was a couple weeks later, and after that is when we started like talking on the phone and Skyping and stuff, not just texting. Then like two or three weeks ago was when I told him how I felt and we decided we want to give this a try."

"So you've been talking to this guy all summer and never told us?" Shitty asks incredulously. "Jack! My man!"

Jack rolls his eyes. "There wasn't much to tell until recently. I mean, I think I mentioned the game nights once?"

"Yeah, but you said it was just some Falcs and staff members, not _the guy you're hot for who you've been flirting with for weeks!_ " Shitty crosses his arms and looks at Jack accusingly.

"Shits," Lardo says. "You don't share a bathroom anymore. Let the man have a little bit of privacy. He's telling us now."

"Thank you," Jack says to her. "Anyhow, we've been talking about, y'know, who to tell and when, since I'm not really out to… anyone but you guys and my parents."

"Are you thinking of going, like, public-public?" Shitty asks. It's a question Jack will have to answer many times in the next few months.

"Maybe, but there's no way we're going public-public until we can be together-together," he says, "and who knows when that'll be."

"Makes sense," Lardo says.

"Anyhow, he wanted to meet you guys, so I was wondering if you want to come to one of the game nights? You can't say anything about us dating while other people are on the call, but if you wanted the four of us could get on a bit earlier than everyone else so you can interrogate him or whatever."

* * *

"Ugh, my mama cannot understand that flying is just not worth it yet!" It's not a new conversation—Bitty had the same argument with his mother about Thanksgiving. "She says I can just not see MooMaw, but _she_ goes to visit MooMaw weekly, and I know she wears a mask and all but I simply _refuse_ to lose my MooMaw just so my Mama's not sad on Christmas!"

Bittle stops to take a breath, and Jack jumps in. He's gotten very good at knowing when to let Bittle rant (or ramble) uninterrupted and when to cut in. Things like that—knowing each other in all these little but important ways—make this feel like a real relationship.

"You know I'm on your side, Bits," he says. "And I'm guessing your MooMaw is, too. You should call her, she'd probably put your mom in her place."

Bittle laughs. "Oh goodness, I can't sic MooMaw on her just yet! Mama was so put out when she refused to see her for two weeks after she made the mistake of goin' to church for Aletta's baby's baptism. I'll give Mama a little time to cool off and come around before I get MooMaw ranting at her about her own daughter trying to send her to the hospital." He sighs. "I hope it's all worth it. I really am so scared of her gettin' it. If we do all this and she dies anyhow and we can't even have a funeral I just don't know what I'll do!"

"Hey, hey." Jack caresses the screen, the closest he can get to comforting his boyfriend with touch. "I've never met your grandmother, but I already know she's smarter than to put herself at risk unnecessarily. There's never gonna be no risk until the vaccine clears clinical trials, but she didn't catch it when half your cousins got sick, right? She's taking care of herself. And your mom is taking care of her, too—most of the time." He gets the feeling that Suzanne Bittle is as extroverted as her son; as the months of limited contact with the outside world have worn on, she's gotten more and more antsy to end it. Luckily, the baptism was the only time she's taken any real risks (as far as Jack knows).

"I know, I know," Bittle says with a sigh. "And I think Pat and Pat Junior both winding up in the hospital really drove it home to my Mama. This Christmas travel thing'll blow over, she's just gotta get it out of her system."

"I'm so sorry you have to spend all these holidays alone," Jack says. "God, I wish I could be with you." It's an old refrain by now, repeated nearly daily by one or the other of them for the past three months.

Bittle looks at him cautiously, like he's not sure how Jack will react to what he's going to say.

"I could—I could do a full quarantine," he says.

Jack raises his eyebrows. Players are only allowed to have visitors if the visitors do a strict two-week quarantine—no going to the grocery store, no picking up takeout, nothing other than walks outside away from other people with a mask on. Jack's parents visited in September, and they had to arrive in Providence two weeks early to quarantine in a sublet apartment, since just getting to Providence breaks quarantine.

They haven't really talked about it as an option, though, because it's not like Bittle is going to quarantine for two weeks just so they can have dinner together one night, and as soon as he leaves Jack's apartment he'd have to quarantine again to come back.

"You could," Jack says, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. He'd love it, of course, but he's not the one who would be inconvenienced for two full weeks. "If you wanted to stay here over Thanksgiving weekend maybe? Would four days be enough to make it worth it?"

Bittle laughs. "Honey, five minutes would make it worth it. But are you sure you want me hanging around 24 hours a day for that long?"

"Are you kidding? Stay as long as you want," Jack says incredulously. "Of course I want you here as much as humanly possible. But you're the one who'll have to deal with the quarantine, so it's totally up to you."

Bittle bites his lip. He looks excited, and Jack has to try not to mirror that excitement. The last thing he wants is Bitty making this decision because he thinks it'll make Jack happy. Then Bittle's smile drops a little. "Wait—do you have to, like, disclose to the Falconers who's visiting you or anything?"

Jack shakes his head. "You only have to disclose if you find out someone you've been in contact with develops COVID, or anyone _they_ had contact with within the two weeks before you were around them. Or… something like that? Anyhow, they only need to hear it if someone, somewhere gets sick. We're basically on the honor system as far as people quarantining. I don't think they're too worried about it because none of us wants to get sick." An AHL player wound up in the hospital for a month over the summer, just as practices were starting, and the lung damage basically ended his career; since then, even the Trump-supporting guys you find on some teams have been taking it seriously. "If you needed them to set you up with an apartment like my folks did, that'd be one thing, but you're local, so that's not even an issue."

"Good," Bittle says. Neither of them are quite sure what will happen when management finds out they're dating. There are no rules against players dating staff—Snowy met his girlfriend because she was someone's assistant. But while Jack is pretty sure coming out to George won't be a disaster, he's not a hundred percent sure the entire organization will be happy about it—sure, on paper they'll be supportive, but a lot could go wrong. He doesn't want Bittle's job to suffer because of him. "If that's not an issue, then… You really, really want me to come over? Cause if you do, I gotta start the quarantine…." He seems to be looking at something on his computer, probably a calendar. "Within the next two days!"

"Again, it's up to you. Bittle." He waits until it looks like Bittle is looking at him again and not the calendar. "I want you here all the time. Don't worry about that, ever."

"I wanna be there all the time," Bittle says softly, and Jack can tell he's touching the screen. "Okay. I'll do a big grocery run and everything tomorrow, and then that's it, full quarantine! And I'll be able to come the day before Thanksgiving!"

* * *

They realize quickly that if Bittle is going to be spending Thanksgiving at Jack's, his parents will want to Skype him on the holiday and will wonder where he is and why he's not at home. So they decide that it's time to explain the situation to them—if Bitty trusts them, Jack trusts them (which is why Bitty specifies that this news is _not_ to reach his aunts or cousins). They seem to take the news that he's dating a hockey superstar with equally-if-not-more-famous parents in stride.

 **Bittle** : Still on the Skype call, but exact quote from my mother:

 **Bittle** : "Well, I assumed none of those boys swung that way of course, but I knew if any of em did they wouldn't stand a chance. All those Yankees are suckers for a little bit of southern charm"

 **Jack** : I mean, she's right.

 **Jack** : Well, I'm not sure I count as a "yankee" if I'm Canadian.

 **Jack** : I definitely didn't stand a chance, though.

 **Bittle** : 🥰

Now Bittle's done the 14-day quarantine. He placed a grocery delivery order on Jack's account (Jack insisted, because if he tried to place the order himself from Bittle's extensive list he was sure to mess it up), which arrived this morning. Bittle himself had a couple of Zoom meetings he had to go to, but he's on his way over to Jack's apartment _right now_. Jack can't sit still; he's cleaned the place top to bottom twice since this weekend, and now all he can do is wander around, checking that the kitchen equipment he ordered from Amazon last week is still in the cabinet (it is), checking that his hair looks okay (it does), and then staring at the books in his living room bookcase, wondering if he should reorganize them by genre instead of author (probably not).

He gave Bitty the code to the building's parking garage and his personal code for the elevator, so he shouldn't need to buzz him up. He's just pulling out his phone to check _just in case_ he got one of the codes wrong and Bitty is trying to call him when there's a knock on his door.

He rushes over and throws it open to find Bittle beaming at him from behind a brightly-colored mask covered in fruit. He could almost collapse with relief.

"Hi," he says through his own smile as he opens the door wider and steps out of the way. "There's a basket by the door for masks to go in the laundry."

Bitty pulls the mask off and tosses it in the basket as Jack closes the door. "WherecanIwashmyhands?" he asks, bouncing a little, almost too rushed for Jack to understand.

"Oh, uh, the kitchen is closest." Jack points in its direction and Bittle dashes away. Jack follows more slowly, amused. He leans in the kitchen doorway and watches Bittle scrubbing his hands.

"Hi, sorry," Bitty says, smiling at him again. "Ugh, why can't I make twenty seconds go _faster?_ "

Jack laughs. "It's fine," he says. "You're here."

"I'm here." Bitty looks back down at his hands as he finishes up. "I kinda can't believe it, but this soap and water feels real enough."

He finally finishes and flicks the water off his hands into the sink. As he turns to grab the hand towel hanging off the stove, Jack comes up behind him. He must hear, because he's not startled when he turns around.

"Hi," he says again, tossing the towel on the counter next to him without taking his eyes off of Jack.

Jack doesn't bother responding, just pulls him in for a kiss. Bittle's fingers slide into his hair, warm and still damp. He's still got a puffy coat on, so Jack slides his hands underneath it to feel the firm muscles of his back. He presses Bittle up against the counter and they stay there, making out like teenagers.

After a few minutes, Bittle pushes him away gently. "This coat's gettin' a little warm," he gasps.

"Sorry," Jack says, not very sorry at all. "Here, I'll hang it up for you. Where's the rest of your stuff?"

"Oh, I need to go back down to the car for it at some point," he says as he pulls the coat off and hands it to Jack. "I just didn't really feel like dealing with it before… well, before I got to do _that._ And now I'll have to put a mask back on and everything, so I'll deal with it later."

Jack isn't going to complain, because if Bitty isn't going back downstairs until _later_ , Jack gets him all to himself _now_. He gives Bitty a quick tour of the apartment, their fingers laced together like they're going for a longer walk than just down his hallway. He ends the tour by tugging Bitty into his bedroom.

"And the second most important landmark after the oven," he says. (Bitty cooed over _that_ the first several times he saw it over the phone.) "My bed."

"I see," Bitty says with a wicked grin, and pulls Jack back down into a kiss.

They've had phone sex a few times, but have held off on video because they agreed they wanted their first time seeing each other like this to be in person. Now that they're here, Jack is in no hurry. Sure, he wants to make Bittle come as many times as possible in the next four days, but he also wants to learn every inch of his boyfriend's body. When they do have Skype sex, he wants to know exactly how everything he sees would feel under his hands and mouth.

So they take their time, uncovering each other's skin inch by deliberate inch. Jack discovers that Bittle is very ticklish, and nearly gets evicted from his own bed after taking too much advantage of this fact. They talk and laugh as much as they moan and pant, and when they're finally wrapped in each other's arms, drowsily coming down from the high two hours later, Jack has the idle thought that it was both the most athletic and the most relaxed sex he's had in a long time. Definitely the most fun.

Bittle hums happily and tilts his face up toward Jack's. "I guess now I have to accept that this is real and not some prank the team decided to play on me to have a little fun during quarantine."

"Or we're just really committed to the bit," Jack says, straight-faced.

Bittle laughs, a laid-back post-orgasmic sort of chuckle Jack isn't sure he's heard before—and he's heard so many of Bittle's laughs already. It reminds him that they still have so much to learn about each other, and suddenly he can't wait. He can't wait to get to know every detail of this man, to make coffee for him just the way he likes it and remind him of things he needs to do that Jack knows he'll forget because he always forgets them, to be able to tell what sort of mood he's in by the shirt he chooses or the way he combs his hair or what he bakes that day. If Jack is lucky, if he's very, very lucky, he'll have his whole life to get to know and be known by Eric Bittle.

"I love you," he says. They haven't used the word since Jack's claim that he was falling in love when he first told Bittle how he felt, and Jack knows that on his end, at least, it's only been because he wanted to wait to say it in person.

Bittle tilts his head a little, regarding Jack with a mix of affection and amusement. "You should be careful, sayin' a thing like that when you're all pumped full of postcoital oxytocin," he says, but his smirk tells Jack that he's not really trying to discourage him.

"I'm very careful," Jack says seriously. "Always. But I'll say it again and again, anytime you want."

Bittle's smirk softens. He sighs and for a moment they're just caught up, staring into each other's eyes.

"I love you, too," he finally says. "God, I really, really do."

Jack can't keep from cracking a smile. "You should be caref—"

He can't get very far in throwing Bitty's words back at him before there's a hand shoved over his mouth by his giggling boyfriend. He licks it, but Bitty just raises an eyebrow.

"I've got your spit on worse places on my body than that right now, mister."

Jack licks again, this time keeping the touch of his tongue to Bittle's skin feather-light. That works, the hand getting jerked back immediately.

"Hey! That tickles!"

"Everything tickles you," Jack says, and pulls him close to demonstrate.

* * *

The next few days pass far too quickly. Jack meets Bitty's parents over Skype on Thanksgiving. They seem to like him, he thinks, or at least not hate him. Bitty meets his parents, too, though since they're in Canada at the moment they already celebrated the holiday last month (a fact his mother always takes great delight in bemoaning, and is only spurred on by the fact that she has a fellow American to support her complaints this year). Jack's father seems equally interested in Bittle's hockey history and his baking; he apparently watched some of Bitty's YouTube videos and wants advice on something that won't turn out quite right for him.

Jack has to go back to work Friday, but it doesn't hurt to leave for practice when he knows Bitty will be waiting there for him when he gets back. They spend every spare moment either in bed, cooking and baking together, or eating their creations curled together on the sofa, watching some Chinese television show Bitty has heard good things about.

Before Jack knows it, it's Sunday evening. Bitty doesn't seem any happier to head home than Jack is to see him go.

"So stay," Jack says, pulling him closer. They're lying on the couch, Bittle sprawled on top of him, so there's not much closer to get, but Jack tries anyhow. "Stay here. Stay with me."

Bitty raises an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope you're not asking me to move in with you after we've been dating for less than four months," he says, sounding amused.

"Ha, no," Jack says. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm tempted, but even I know that's a little fast."

"Besides, my lease runs until the summer," Bittle says. "And moving all my stuff right now, with all this—how would I even stay quarantined while doing that?"

Jack considers this. "We could just hire movers to get all your stuff."

Bitty pushes up on his elbows to loom over Jack. "Jack, no. Don't tempt me. You push it and I'm liable to go and say yes, so it's up to you to curb both of our ridiculous impulses."

"That's a lot to put on me," Jack says. "Curbing ridiculous impulses isn't one of my strong suits. _But_ , I honestly didn't mean that anyhow. We're heading to Chicago Wednesday morning; you should just stay 'til then. I'll be gone for nearly three weeks, so there's not really any point to you being here after that anyhow. And then… maybe you could come back for the holidays? If you wanted to? You'd have to quarantine again while I'm gone, so if you don't—"

"Of _course_ I wanna come back, and of _course_ quarantining again isn't a problem, you ridiculous boy. And sure, I can stay until Wednesday. I have some meetings for work, but I can just put a background behind my video call so nobody can see that I'm not in my apartment. I'll just need to wash my clothes tonight."

"Perfect," Jack says. He starts to slide a hand down the back of Bittle's jeans. "Let me help you out of these so you can get your laundry started."

* * *

When Jack gets back into the locker room after practice on Tuesday, the coach surprises him by telling him that George wants to see him in her office when he's cleaned up. His heart starts racing immediately, even though he has no reason to think he's in trouble. He doesn't have to wait long to find out what it's about, though, because when he picks up his phone he finds a string of texts from Bittle.

 **Bittle** : Fuck. The Zoom background glitched, just for a couple seconds, and nobody said anything so I figured nobody noticed anything, but after the meeting Georgia Martin asked to talk to me and once we were alone she asked why I was in your office.

 **Bittle** : Even if anyone noticed I wasn't at home, I had no idea anyone would be able to recognize your office!

 **Bittle** : I assured her I'd quarantined properly and all, then she pressed so I said I just came over for Thanksgiving, cause it sucked being alone for the holiday. Then she pointed out that Thanksgiving was nearly a week ago and I said well, no use in quarantining for two weeks just to hang out for one meal, right?

 **Bittle** : She didn't seem very impressed by that, but she finally asked if I'd be more comfortable if she talked to you instead of asking me more questions and I said yes, because honestly I don't know how much more I could say without either outright lying to my boss's boss or outing you.

 **Bittle** : So she's probably going to want to have a chat with you. I'm so sorry, Jack.

The last one was sent only a few minutes ago, so Jack responds.

 **Jack** : It's okay, I'm the one who asked you to stay even though I knew you had meetings.

 **Jack** : If anyone should be sorry, it's me.

 **Jack** : We've talked about this, though. If I'm going to tell anyone - and I'm going to have to tell everyone eventually - George is probably who should be first.

 **Bittle** : I know, but I know you didn't want to talk to her about it just yet.

 **Jack** : Yeah, but it's mostly for your sake. I'm okay with coming out to her.

 **Jack** : Hopefully it doesn't have to go any further than her for the moment. I'll talk to her about it.

 **Jack** : Like I said before, if this has any negative implications for your job I will raise hell.

Jack heads up to George's office as soon as he's showered and dressed, ignoring the catcalls of his teammates who act like he's been called to the principal's office. She calls him in as soon as he knocks. He only comes in far enough to close the door behind him, careful not to get any closer than necessary as she pulls a mask on.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Jack asks. He's not going to volunteer any information until he gets a feeling for what her thoughts are.

She gets right to the point, as usual. "Jack, why is Eric Bittle in _your_ home office?"

"He did the full two-week quarantine—"

"Yes, he told me," she says. "And as I told him, that in no way answers my question. Not even a little."

"He came to visit for Thanksgiving." Jack knows it's what Bitty told her, but if there's any chance George will let him get away without telling her the whole truth, he's going to try for it. "He's coming back for Christmas and New Year's after we get back from Chicago."

"Jack." It's hard for Jack to read people's facial expressions under masks, but her eyes are soft. "How long have we been friends now? Anything you tell me doesn't have to leave this office."

Jack nods. She's clearly figured it out, but his stomach still ties itself in knots at the realization that he's about to come out to his boss. He takes a deep breath. "We're dating," he finally says. "A few months now. Please _don't_ let it leave this office, okay? I don't want this to affect his job."

"Thank you for being honest with me," George says softly. "And of course I'm not going to tell anyone that. That's not mine to tell. But I promise you, it wouldn't hurt his job either way. Unless he gets you sick; that could be a problem."

"Which is why we haven't seen each other in person until now and he was very careful with his quarantine," Jack says quickly.

George raises her hands in surrender, laughing. "I believe you! Look, Jack. He's a great guy. I'm genuinely really happy for both of you."

"Thanks." Jack's shoulders relax; he hadn't even noticed they were so tensed up.

"It would help me to know a bit more, though. As far as I know nobody else in his department would recognize your apartment, although you might want to move that photo of your Samwell house just in case; that's what caught my eye. I'm guessing nobody on the team knows?"

"Not yet."

George raises her eyebrows. "Yet? Are you planning on telling anyone?"

"Eventually, yeah. I mean, the guys I'm friends with, maybe soon, now that you know."

She nods. "For what it's worth, I don't think you need to worry about anyone reacting negatively." Jack nods. "The tricky thing, though, is that, obviously, he's part of the PR department. We should have a plan in case this somehow gets out, and of course they'd be involved in that. So I'm not sure you can—or should—keep it from his supervisor for much longer, either. But again, I swear to you, it won't affect his job. Though I assume Colleen isn't who the two of you are worried about anyhow; ever since her daughter came out she's been a one-woman pride parade. She was _thrilled_ to have the chance to hire Eric, given his history."

"No," Jack admits. "She'd be fine, we know. More Nicholson and the VPs and those types."

George nods again as she leans forward and puts her elbows on her desk, folding her hands near her chin. "Right. I get that. Again, I think they'll be fine, but I can feel them out a bit for you just to be sure. I will promise you, though, that if it looks like this could in any way impact his job I will personally make a stink about it."

"Oh, so will I," Jack says vehemently. "When they do find out, I will make sure they know that if anything happens to him, I'll be pissed. I have another year on my contract, but after that I would absolutely walk if I had to. And you know I don't want to."

George leans back and crosses her arms. He can't tell what's going on behind her mask, but there's a gleam in her eye. "You're already planning to pick up and move to God-knows-where a year and a half from now if he loses his job next month? You must be pretty serious about this guy, kiddo."

"Yeah," Jack says, calming down a little. "I am. Serious enough that I know that all these people _will_ have to know eventually, because I'm not going to hide this forever. I'm not sure coming out right now, in this middle of all this… stuff…." He gestures vaguely to his mask. "Would be a good idea, but you're right, we'll need a plan, because eventually it will get out. Because I'm going to put it out."

George's eyes crinkle in a smile. "I'm so happy for you guys, Jack. You have no idea."

* * *

The day the FDA gives the first COVID-19 vaccine its final approval is a day of national celebration. The approval comes on a Thursday, and President Warren immediately signs an order declaring the following Monday to be a federal holiday.

Life doesn't return to normal immediately, of course. It takes time to produce and distribute enough of the vaccine, even with the government greasing a lot of wheels.

Jack isn't sure how he feels about the fact that pretty much every team in every major sport, the Falconers included, can afford to get their hands on it before most of the country has an adequate supply, but he's not exactly in a position to refuse the shot, so he just quietly writes a few very large checks to organizations making sure the homeless and other vulnerable populations get their shots, too.

Jack is a little relieved, honestly, that they've been eliminated from the playoffs already. Bitty wants to visit his family as soon as they're all vaccinated, and this way Jack can come along for that trip. They've spent the past several months with Bitty going back and forth, staying with Jack for a week or two at a time, then going home when Jack has to leave town. Since the season has been rearranged such that when the Falconers do go on the road, they stay for sometimes up to a month to play several teams before coming home, Bitty always has time to get some things done and then do another two-week quarantine before coming back.

The very first thing Jack does, though, as soon as they've both been vaccinated and have waited the mandatory week to make sure it's taken effect, is follow through on his promise and take Bitty out on a real date. They've been making a list of all the best restaurants in Providence (not to mention Boston, Atlanta, Montreal, and a dozen cities Jack will soon get to play in again) and by the time they're cleared to go out in public, Jack has made reservations at three of them.

By now, everyone in the Falconers knows they're dating. Only one guy in upper management made any noise about it, but when Jack immediately called up his Uncle Mario to see what kind of contract the Pens might offer him in a year, that guy backed down very quickly.

They've met with the appropriate PR people a few times, but what those meetings have come down to is: The PR people write up their formal press releases and contingency plans, Jack and Bitty look them over and say yes okay those look fine, but then make it clear that they will be doing whatever the fuck they want and will not be asking for permission or holding a press conference first or waiting for anyone's approval.

They do decide to provide fair warning, at least, in the form of a phone call to George and Colleen to let them know that they'll be seen in public a lot together and assuring them that Bitty will do his job and keep an eye on the press and social media, and if they think a formal statement needs to be released they'll say so.

Jack doesn't bother to mention the ring he slips into his pocket while Bitty is in the bathroom, getting ready for their first-ever date.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not very good at replying to all comments (especially since I'm sick right now), but I appreciate every one of them!
> 
> P.S. Yes I did make a [Falconers twitter account](https://twitter.com/gopvdfalcsnhl) and yes you can go follow it if you want, but all it has is these four tweets and I doubt it'll ever have anything else...
> 
> P.P.S. Yes, in this AU Elizabeth Warren won the nomination because it's my universe and I can do what I want.


End file.
